


These Days Are Not Peaceful

by ClockworkChild



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon LGBTQ Character, Everyone Is Gay, F/M, Gay, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Other, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Vampires, first novel is a mess, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28710030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkChild/pseuds/ClockworkChild
Summary: In 1461, the Ottoman Empire was doing its best to take over Romania. Voivode Vlad Tepes was doing his best to prevent it from happening. As prince of Wallachia, a part of what we know as Romania, he cared for his country and did everything in his power to keep Wallachia independent. He was a harsh but just ruler, being viewed as a hero by his people and a terror by other countries. He pinned turbans to heads with nails, drained the blood from his victims, and impaled prisoners on stakes until they slowly died. These acts have earned him the stories of being a strigoi, an immortal vampire, or a moroi, a mortal vampire, and many discussed the truth of those stories. However, the truth will never compare to the way these stories have destroyed the lives of one family that lived on the edge of the country.Vali's life was simple. He had a mother, father, and brother, all who loved him dearly. They lived on the border of Wallachia and were wealthy, and no one could ask for anything more than what they already had.But when a tragedy befalls Vali, and a vampire slaughters his entire family, he must learn to fend for himself in a world that is unkind and unforgiving to creatures like him.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Troubled Night

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first chapter of the novel I'm working on! This story does have a trans ftm protagonist, and there will be some transphobia scattered throughout because of real world history. This does have plenty of violence and gore, being a vampire story. This is my very first draft, so apologies for the historical inaccuracies and any grammatical mistakes. Enjoy!

These days were his favorite.

Clouds rolling in across the baby blue sky, as puffy and white as the wool sheared off sheep. Wind blowing gently, coolly, over his face, tousling his hair and skirt, sending rippling waves through the wheat in the field. Cows mooing softly nearby in the pastures, stomping their hooves against the ground as they grazed. Servants wandering the field and reaping wheat, tying and stacking bundles of it. It was quiet and peaceful, and some days it was enough to lull Vali to sleep for hours. So he closed his eyes, and slept.

*  
Today was not a day for peace, however, and shouting roused Vali from his slumber.

“Vida! Vida, you must come inside!” Vali’s stomach flipped uncomfortably at being called his birth name. His brother Sorin knelt by him and shook him. Sorin was his elder by only one year, but he too often acted as if he were several years older. “They’ve found another.” 

Vali rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up, standing. “Sorin, you know I dislike being called—“ He faltered at Sorin’s hiss, a finger raised to his lips. Moments later, Vali’s nursemaid struggled up the grassy hill, panting.

“Vida! Thank the Lord, girl, you’re safe!” The woman enveloped Vali in her arms. 

Vali squirmed, ducking away. “Yes, I am. What’s happened?”

“They’ve found another body by the docks! Your parents are worried for you. You have been gone since morning. Now, come with me back to the house where you are safe and—Vida!” Vali had bolted, raising his skirt and running in the direction of the docks.

He stopped once he had arrived, lowering his skirt, unfazed by the mud clinging to the fabric as it dropped. A crowd had already gathered, crying and shouting over each other in an attempt to be heard by the village’s constable. They were terrified for themselves and their families, for the murders were starting to rise in frequency. There was the body of a young man on the dock, two puncture wounds in the side of his neck, his skin ashen from a lack of blood. Ritual wounds, some believed. Why else would someone be drained of their blood? Others dared to call it the work of a strigoi—a spirit from the grave that drinks the blood of its victims. Or it could have been a moroi, a phantom that leaves its grave to drain energy from the living. But it could not leave puncture wounds like that, could it?

“Calm down, the lot of you!” barked the watchman. “Get back to whatever you were doing. This is not a sight for any of you. I’ll find whoever was wicked enough to do this. I can assure you it was not a diavol.” Demon. The crowd reluctantly started to dissipate, but not without fearfully praying, crossing themselves at the mention of a demon. Some grabbed a handful of sand from the lake’s shore, in case they had to scatter it at the foot of a strigoi later that night; it’s been said that strigoi must stop and count the grains separately when such a situation is presented. 

A hand grabbed Vali’s shoulder and tightened. “Vida, my daughter. What are you doing here? This is no place for young women.” 

Vali felt ill once again at the mention of his birth name, his father oblivious to the grimace on Vali’s face. He pulled away. “Sorin told me there was a body here, and you and mother were searching for me. I thought you would be here.”

“And I am. Now run back home. I do not want you wandering alone when there is a murderer loose in this village.”

“I can protect myself! I am not weak—“

“Vida, enough. Go, and stay home.”

Vali squared his shoulders, shooting a glare at his father before running back to the house. His family was wealthier than others and well respected, though their wealth was no match for the families that lived in the cities. No one was truly rich in the small villages that resided at the edge of the sea, for they often were overlooked by the Voivode Vlad Tepes. Vali did not blame him for being more occupied with the matter of the Ottoman Empire threatening to take over the country. He supposed it was difficult to be a prince trying to keep his beloved country together and free. Vali’s home was a simple, three-tiered mansion made from stone and clay, with circular and square windows sparsely located on each wall. The inside of the home was luxurious with its fur rugs and blanketed beds, fireplaces in each room, lamps and paintings lining every wall, and a room of family treasures and heirlooms. Much of it was expensive, but many of the memories that resided in the home were priceless.

His mother wrapped him into a tight hug when he came back home, kissing his head and smoothing down his nearly white hair, a color both he and his brother had inherited from their mother. Vali had his mother’s gentle olive eyes, and Sorin had his father’s stern sapphire. Their parents had loved them both equally, no matter who had whose eyes, but recently they seemed to favor Sorin more. Perhaps it was because he was not a son wishing to be a daughter, like Vali was a daughter wishing to be a son.

“Oh, Vida, we were so terribly worried. We heard there was a body, and you were nowhere in the house… Then Sorin and Ilinca told me where you have been. Please, stay inside with your mother until whoever responsible is caught.” His mother begged. 

“But that may be weeks, and Sorin is allowed always to go outside.” Vali protested.

“Your brother knows how to protect himself. Please, my child.”

He jutted his chin out, staring his mother in the eyes. “On one condition, only, mother.”

“Of course. What is it you want?”

“Call me Vali.”

Her face fell and she let go of Vali. “Vida, how many times must I ask this of you?” Hurt crept into her voice. “Stop pretending you are a boy. I understand you dislike the way women must act, but that is the way of life and you must accept it.”

“I do not pretend! I am, mother, I am—“ A slap broke off the rest of his sentence, the words dying on his tongue.

“To your room, Vida.” The warmth was gone from her voice, and only anger and disgust remained. “Now. Think about what you are saying, ungrateful child.” She watched Vali flee to his room and close the door.

Vali sat with his back against the door and wept. He did not understand why it was such a sin to be different. He could not be a man, but his father could love too many women, his mother could treat their servants like dirt, and his brother could break the heart of a new girl every day. Others could cause pain, but Vali could not be himself.

When it was nightfall, there was a light knock on the door and Sorin entered. The wide grin on his face left when he saw Vali curled up on his bed. “Vida?”

“Vali,” he said softly.

“Yes, I’m sorry, Vali. Are you ill?” He crossed the small room and sat by Vali, rubbing his back.

“No. Mother has told me to stay inside until the killer has been arrested, and she still refuses to call me by my name.” Vali pulled away from Sorin’s touch, groaning as he was pulled back and hugged tightly. “Sorin, you are crushing me.”

“Am I?” Sorin tightened his grip and ruffled his sibling’s hair, laughing as Vali cursed at him and tried to bite the arm around him. “Perhaps you are the strigoi the village is hunting. Oh, hush, I’ll let go now.” He grinned at Vali’s grouchy expression, noticing the smile Vali was fighting back. Smoothing down the hair he mussed and braiding it, he continued speaking. “Mother will take some time to convince, little brother, along with father. But they love you nonetheless.”

“Do they?” Asked Vali, his voice faint. “They seem to only love me when they don’t remember who I am.”

“They do. As I’ve just told you, it will take time.” Sorin finished the braid and tied it off with a ribbon, kissing Vali’s head.

“Sorin? Will you really leave for war next month?”

Sorin hesitated. “Yes. Our father can hide my age for only so long, and more soldiers are needed. I’ve heard they plan to go across the Danube for an attack against the Ottomans.”

“The Danube? But it’s nearly winter. It will be cold.”

“Yes.”

“Promise me you’ll stay warm.”

He smiled. “I promise. And I promise I will not die in the snow like some sheep without its wool.”

Vali shoved him. “The sheep did not die! It just nearly froze. And I was ten when I borrowed the shears. I learned my lesson not to trim sheep in the winter.”

He laughed. “Alright.”

It was quiet for a few moments. “Tell me if what the soldiers say about Voivode Tepes is true, when you’ve met him and come back. They say he is a moroi, because of what he does to his prisoners.”

“Vali, you know our prince is not. He is a man fighting for us. He may be harsh, but he is—“

A crash sounded downstairs, followed by a long scream. Sorin jumped to his feet, leaping forward to grasp the fire poker from Vali’s room’s fireplace. Vali stood. “Sorin—“

“Shh. Get under the bed, Vali. Do it now, now!” He ushered his brother underneath the bed, then locked the door and placed a chair against it. From underneath the bed, Vali could see Sorin’s hands shaking as he held the fire poker. Neither of them knew what was happening, and neither wanted to find out. Another cry echoed down the hallway the room resided in, and Sorin crouched behind Vali’s armoire, silently praying. Neither of them were ready to die that night. Vali locked eyes with him, then shuffled further back under the bed as the door burst open with a crash, wood splintering. He clapped a hand over his mouth to stop a scream, and from under the bed he saw Sorin flinch. 

Long boots came into Vali’s line of sight, slowly striding into the room. Droplets of blood shone against the brown leather as the boots walked, pacing until they stopped by the bed. I will not let fear rule me, Vali thought, I mustn’t be afraid. The person dropped to their knees and an arm shot out under the bed, grabbing Vali by his dress and dragging him out from under the bed. A scream tore itself from his throat and he grabbed onto the wooden frame of the bed, trying to hold on. Suddenly he was being lifted into the air and there was a searing pain running along his neck, burning, burning.

The next moments were a blur to him.

Vali was dropped and a scream of pain pierced his ears, warm blood showering the floor and Vali’s face. Another cry and thud, and Vali saw two bodies on the floor tussling, a fire poker sticking out of the back of a man over Sorin. “Go!” Sorin screamed. “Vali, go! Go—“ His sentence was interrupted by a wet cough.

Forcing himself to move, Vali stood and rushed to them, yanking the fire poker out and lifting it, slamming it into the odd man’s side. The man rolled off with a choked grunt, long black curls flying. Vali knelt by Sorin and started tugging at him, breathing heavily. His world was blurring and lurching, threatening to pull him under a veil of blackness. “You will be all right, Sorin, don’t you worry.” He breathed, pulling him across the floor still.

“Vali…”

“Please, you will be fine, hold on, Sorin, please…”

“Vali. Look at me.” Sorin grabbed Vali’s arm. With a whine Vali lowered his head to look at him. Blood was trickling down his neck, a gash in the skin of his throat beside two puncture wounds. “Run far from here, do you understand me? Run, and do not stop running until you are safe.” Vali sat by him and started to cry, holding his brother close. “Shh, Vali… shh…” Sorin’s eyes fluttered shut, and his chest stopped rising, no longer having the need to breathe.

Vali choked back a sob and clung to Sorin, trembling. Footsteps echoed in the hallway behind him; that was enough motivation for Vali. With a final squeeze to Sorin’s body, Vali let go and stood, running down the hall, the stairs, and exited his home for the final time. On his way, he saw bodies littered across the floors: Sorin, servants, his mother, his father. Images that would haunt his mind for the rest of his life. Within one day, Vali’s life had been snatched away by a monster, a strigoi. His parents, his brother, his home—they were all gone. He would never be able to be held by his family again, or sleep in the room that had been so familiar to him for seventeen years. Where would he go? 

Hours later, when the sun started to rise, Vali allowed himself to stop running. He lied down in a stash of hay in a faraway field, his feet blistered and raw from running the entire night. Finally, he let exhaustion pull him into a slumber that lasted until the next nightfall.

*  
The moon rose, and with it, a new strigoi. The young man’s heart had slowed to a stop, and his skin paled, having lost the flush pink color of life. Lovely olive became bloody red. Those eyes flew open, and Vali woke.

Tonight was not a night for peace.


	2. Demon

Stars crowded the night sky with their feeble light, twinkling, blinking like a silent conversation. But the full moon outshone them all; the host of a grand and bright ball. It shed its light on the owls soaring across the sea of stars, on the gently rolling wheat fields, on the slumbering cows and horses and goats. The soft light gave the nearby barn a ghastly appearance, the dark building looming in the middle of the field. All was silent and unstirring.

Inside, all Vali could smell was blood.

It had only been days since the attack on Vali’s family by the unknown strigoi, since his transition from human to creature. And no matter how desperately he wanted to go on, to avoid contact with humans and animals alike, he was unsuccessful. Goaded on by the sharp noise filling his head that seemed to get louder from the hunger gnawing at his stomach, he found himself turning to the home he stood in now. Surrounded by the corpses of three children and their parents. Blood slicked the floor and splattered the walls; a messy kill.

The family had been dining at a table, laughing and chatting merrily amongst themselves. Vali had stridden into the house, the door unlocked. There were no thieves to worry about. There was only a monster no one expected. Conversation had stopped upon seeing Vali. A lost girl, in their eyes, with dried blood on her neck and gown. Terror quickly overtook concern as Vali had thrown himself at them—and the next event in his memory was standing over their bodies. The mother’s neck, snapped. The father’s, gashed open with a cutting knife from the table. The children, cut and bitten and drained.

  
They were commoners who had nothing but their farm, each other, and their lives. Now they simply had nothing.

Vali sat in the middle of the room and wept. He forced bile back as he cried, bloody tears streaming down his face and staining it. The noise in his head was gone, but with it went his humanity.

_Strigoi. Vampire. Creature. Murderer. Monster._

*  
Vali spent the next few days on the small farm, trying to care for it as a means of penance.

He dug graves for the slaughtered family the best he could and mopped up the blood. He tended to the animals; he’d seen a cat briefly on his way out, but wasn’t sure whether it was domestic or feral, so he left food for it outside anyway. Whenever he went out, he made sure he had little skin showing; sunlight hurt him now. It did not kill, but it weakened him greatly and if he spent hours in the sun without covering his pale skin, the light burned him. Vali was grateful the bit of normalcy he gained from being able to be in sunlight, even if it stung.

From the days on the farm he continued to learn about his new and—he cringed at the thought—permanent condition. _Lord, let there be a cure to this._ He could no longer touch crosses or silver—they burned him on touch unlike the sun.

 _Like demons_ , Vali thought. Impurity. A curse. A hellish disease.

He also learned how long he can go resisting the noise in his head. It was like a ringing that never stopped, and it only got louder every hour he went without feeding upon blood. Three days. He was able to go three days before the noise was unbearable. A cow suffered for it. As for his hunger, he was surprised to find that human food could sustain him for some time. He felt ill and weak as if he hadn’t eaten, but it did lessen the hunger pangs for a few hours.

Some of the stories spun about vampires were incorrect.

Vali was unbothered by garlic, never felt the need to count grain if he spilled any, and he could see himself perfectly well in reflections in mirrors and water. However, he did not have a pulse. If he cut himself, he healed at an inhuman pace. It was all unnerving.

_Demon._

Besides caring for the animals there was little to do on the farm. He knew he could do nothing for them except keep them alive a little while longer, since there were no other people for at least an hour of travel. He knew he had to leave before someone came looking for the family. Despite the lack of other people around, couriers or friends or family members would eventually come to visit or leave mail.

And Vali did not want to be here when they came.

Vali killed another cow to feed on and released the rest of the animals, opening their pens. I can only give them their best chance at survival. He poured water in a tub and scrubbed himself clean of the blood and dirt. He got out, water dripping from him. Dried himself off. Paused at his distorted reflection in the small, tin mirror.

Usually, tried to avoid his reflection whenever he could. Today, he forced himself to scrutinize it. Vali leaned over to peer at his face. Raised a hand to touch the skin around his eyes. They used to be a lovely olive; they were now red, bright after gorging himself on blood just an hour before. Freckles dusted his face in spite of his skin’s loss of color, just less in number than when he was alive. Fainter. He almost mistook them for flecks of dried blood. He saw blood everywhere now.

Vali examined his reflection more, poking and prodding at the soft features he loathed.

_Soft, like a girl._

He squared his jaw and snatched the pair of rusted shears lying on the floor, hacking at his long hair until it reached only his jaw. A pale halo of hair framed his face. He kept his hair just long enough in the front to brush over his eyes.

 _Mother and Father are surely rolling in their graves,_ he thought smugly. A good enough change that made him somewhat more comfortable in his skin.

His parents. His brother.

_Oh, Sorin. If only I’d moved quicker—_

Vali shook his head. Brushing bits of hair off himself, he picked up the clothing he’d taken from the dead father’s closet and pulled it on. They were far too big on him, but they served their purpose in hiding his feminine physique. It would make travelers less likely to pay attention to him. Safer that way. He pushed his feet into equally too-large shoes, stuffed a cap on his head, and went to the kitchen, grabbing a sack and shoving food into it. Bread, cheese, anything that would last him.

Slinging the bag over his back and pulling the cap low over his eyes, he headed out the door.

*  
Daylight died as Vali arrived at his home. The setting sun painted the house a fiery red, and for a moment, Vali could hear the screams of his dying family and servants.

Vali gave the front door a light push and it slowly swung open. It wasn’t locked. There was no family inside to fear criminals. Looters, however, had clearly been here. Just the entry hall itself had an open closet left with nothing in it, contrary to the fullness of coats and boots when Vali had been living here. He let out a low breath; it was white in the chilly air he breathed back in. I don’t need to breathe anymore. But it made him feel—more.

He crept through the house with new and silent grace, keeping a hand on a dagger he’d taken from the other family’s farm. Something creaked upstairs.

“Hello?” he called softly. “Is anyone here?” He did a slow turn, looking around himself. “You mustn’t fear me. I will not hurt you.” He raised his voice. Scratching on a wall.

The house settled back into silence.

 _Must be an animal._ As if on cue, a large cat bolted down the stairs, hissed at him, and charged out the door with a rat in mouth. Vali lowered his knife.

Dried blood stained the floorboards where the bodies had been. It was a surprising amount of wasted blood for a creature that fed on it. Without a doubt the bodies been removed just a day after the tragedy; Vali’s family sold meat, milk, grain—rarely a day went by without someone buying product. He pitied the poor soul who expected milk and stumbled upon a gruesome scene instead.

He went upstairs, and paused. Where Sorin had died in his arms in the doorway of Vali’s room, specks of blood continued to trail from there and into the hall. A smear of brown on the wall. Hope threatened to swell in Vali’s chest before he realized there was no chance of Sorin still living. Those marks easily could have been there already and he simply could have missed them. _He likely regained consciousness after I left. He tried to run and died of blood loss just feet away. He woke and tried to escape, but he was dead—_ Vali shook his head violently, silencing himself. There was no one left for him.

There was nothing left for him here, so why did he come back? For closure? He was too numb to feel anything, let alone grief. It still felt like a terrible dream, even if it was already a week later.

When he’d finished finding what little money was left in the floor under each individual’s bed, he went to the living room. Stopped.

The painting that used to be above the fireplace was gone.

Rage burned away the numbness, thawing it into something hot.

It was a portrait of the family, a gift from just a year ago for his parents’ anniversary. Vali and his mother sat in plush armchairs, his brother behind him and his father behind his mother. His mother had insisted he wear a ridiculously frilly gown that, in his honest opinion, looked horrid on anyone. After the painting was finished Vali had tossed it into the pig’s pen. It looked better on a pig. The satisfaction of ruining it and Sorin’s hysterical laughter was worth the beating it resulted in. Despite the pain looking at a false image of a happy family caused him, it was something theirs. A hope to hold on to, of that happy family where their issues did not exist. Father did not cheat on mother, mother accepted Vali, Sorin continued to smile without using it to distract from his impending service in the war.

And now it was gone. The last memory of his family.

Vali let out a shriek, grabbing a wooden chair and throwing it at the wall where the portrait once hung. It splintered and fell to the floor He threw anything he could find: chairs, abandoned shoes, mostly broken vases, the end table. The space around him lay in shambles. He curled up on the floor, crying.

_Why am I the only one who survived? What have I done to deserve this? Lord, why did you let this happen?_

_Are you even there?_

_I do not want this. I want to be human. I do not want to be cursed, diseased. Disgusting. I’m a murderer. A monster._

He lay on the floor weeping, his arms wrapped tight around his chest. He expected to run out of breath crying like this, but he never did. The dead do not need to cry. His lungs worked—his chest rose and fell, but he did not need the air. So he kept crying, and crying, until he cried himself to sleep.

*  
Vali waited for the next nightfall.

He spent the day gathering more food into his bag, and stuffed the little money he’d found into a smaller pouch. His head sang for blood, for violence, for gore— _I made a mistake coming here after feeding._ He would need to find some unfortunate bastard as he traveled. A fool who risked the night. That did not matter to him much anymore, he believed. The idea of keeping his innocence no longer applied to a creature of the night.

_No longer a creation of the Lord, but of the Devil._

Once the sun went down, he set out, a worn map in hand.

“Where am I going?” he wondered out loud. Really, he had nowhere to go. There was extended family that he could have stayed with if not for his vampirism, but truth be told he had no idea where they even lived. He’d not visited them in years. Civilization was too risky to stay in for long. As long as he kept to the shadows at night and had his hat low over his face, he figured he should be safe.

Vali trailed a finger off the map. Crete. Sorin and Vali both had a dear friend there. The last he’d heard from him was a year ago, but it was worth a try. He trusted him not to react too extremely to his condition. It would be a long journey, but it was better than to stay in Wallachia with the threat of invasion hanging over their heads. He would have to cross the Danube River, Bulgaria, and the Byzantine Empire to board a ship to Crete. It certainly was risky, with the Ottomans in those areas, but he didn’t know where else to go. He folded up the map and tucked it into his coat, willing himself to continue down the dirt road.

The night was silent, frogs and insects now hiding, preparing for the bitterness of the impending winter. Wolves howled in the distance. Dying leaves rustled against each other and fell, whisked away by the cold wind. Vali pulled his coat tighter round himself.

Going anywhere, nowhere, was better than standing in an abandoned home waiting for self-loathing to swallow him whole.


	3. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the formatting! I'm still not used to ao3's format, and it completely messes it up whenever I exit out of a preview. If anyone has any tips for keeping italics and paragraph indents, they're much appreciated :)

The world was cold around him.

Despite the sun beating down on Vali’s back and neck, despite the sweat dripping off his chin, despite being hidden by a thick coat and hat, he was cold.

Loneliness did that to you. Fear. A sort of longing.

Vali had been traveling for just a day now, clinging to his sorry bag of food and coin and praying he encountered no one along the way. So far he hadn’t met anyone, and thank God for that.

God. The name left a bitter taste in his mouth. Burned his throat. Something holy and pure he no longer had the right to.

And, yet, still he prayed.

Once the sun reached its highest point in the sky, Vali stopped under a tree to rest, relieved by the shade. He yanked off his coat and hat, sucking in unneeded breaths, rubbing at the sunburn along his cheeks and neck. Wearily, he untied the bag and pulled out his last bits of bread and cheese. _I’m going to need to rob someone tonight,_ he thought. _I just fed a night ago, but I do not know the next time I will be able to catch something._ Vali gagged at the idea of having to kill again, pressing a hand to his mouth. _I don’t have much of a choice, though, do I? Unless I want to slaughter another family_. He supposed he could let himself starve to death—forget the blood, try to live off of human food that provided little relief, try to forget even that—but he had a feeling his own instincts would not allow it.

After the nausea passed, Vali stuffed the rest of his food into his mouth, wiping his hands on his trousers and leaning against the tree. It was a beautiful day, really. Chilly air tousled Vali’s sloppily cut hair, blowing strands of it into his eyes. Winter was nearing. What would he do for shelter then? For food? He groaned, lying on his back and squinting at the leaves.

It still felt like a dream.

A long, dark, terrifying dream.

Maybe that’s why he hasn’t gone insane yet; none of it felt real yet. Becoming a strigoi? Or was it a moroi? No, he lacked a heartbeat, but he wasn’t a mere spirit; he needed blood, not energy, not like the stories, but perhaps the stories were wrong—either way, a vampire? A bloodsucking demon? Such a thing only happened in myths told to scare the gullible. Even when the murders were occurring in the village, the likelihood of them being performed by a creature was so slim. And yet here Vali was, a creature of the night himself. It didn’t feel quite real. Or perhaps Vali already has gone insane, and that’s why he doesn’t quite mind anymore. But the noise— _the noise_ —

His sleep was haunted by his family still, by his kills, by his homelessness and impure state. Shrieks and spattering blood, pleading, ripping of flesh, the stench of rot, crying—

Vali pressed his hands to his ears.

No more, he pleaded silently, no more. _I don’t want to think about it, not ever again_.

He did still mind. He always will. Even in insanity, he will never not mind. How could he possibly forget their screams? The guilt overwhelmed him.

Vali rolled onto his side with a sigh. He shifted a few more times before finally getting back up, carrying his bag and coat, stuffing his hat on his head again. He was too restless to lie there doing nothing.

So he marched on.

The sun set behind him, turning the sky a crimson red, like the blood treading thickly through his veins. Vali pulled out his map, looking around himself. He could finally see the Danube River in sight, after walking at his sluggish pace in his cheap leather boots and blistering feet. Not used to such hard travel, he had to take too many stops for his liking, slowing his process. Either way, he was close to leaving his homeland. Possibly forever. If he made it to Candia he could stay with his close friend for some time. Dear, sweet Nikodemos, who never questioned Sorin or Vali. However, the first problem was actually getting to Candia. Vali only knew his native language and Nikodemos’, and nothing more. Communication was going to be difficult on his way.

Tucking his map away he kept going, hugging his coat around himself. Voices floated up to him from the distance, and Vali froze. Tents dotted an area by the river, illuminated by several fires throughout camp. Oh, shit.

How was he supposed to cross without the soldiers noticing? Surely they had patrols along the river.

Patrols.

Vali craned his neck to search for any patrol parties nearby that could spot him. For once, life smiled down upon him, because there were none in sight. They were likely at camp resting up for the next day. Even though these soldiers seemed to be Wallachian, Vali didn’t trust them to not harass a young man traveling alone at night. Especially once they saw the color of his eyes.

He crouched by a tree to watch the camp, listening to the men’s raucous laughter and voices.

If Sorin were alive, he would be one of these men, Vali thought. A soldier like them. Immediately he forced the thought away, determined not to be pulled back into spiraling guilt.

An hour went by watching the army, and Vali decided they weren’t going to come close enough for them to spot him. He got up and rubbed out the soreness in his legs before creeping down to the river. With a large enough boat, crossing wouldn’t be too daunting a task, but Vali had no boat, or even a raft. He didn’t even know how to swim. He did not think this through at all. Cursing softly, he knelt at the river’s shore.

_I suppose there’s always a time for trying new things_. Vali stuffed his bag into his coat and buttoned it up, then reached out to feel the temperature of the water. It was freezing to the touch. He stood and stepped into the water, letting out a gasp. _Cold, cold, it is so painfully cold_. Desperately trying to ignore the iciness around his legs, Vali continued wading into the river.

“Halt! Halt, I said, stop!”

Vali turned to see a group of soldiers rushing to the river, swords raising as they came in from near the camp. A soldier nearly fell over, his sword clearly too heavy for him to handle. Another almost copied him, blond hair flopping under his poorly fitted helmet. Sorin—no, stop thinking about him already. Vali cursed, facing the river and running through the water. _Dammit, there must have been a patrol coming out! Good God, it’s cold!_

He yelped as he tripped over his own feet, the water slowing his movement and making him clumsy. Instead he started swimming, nearly stopping as the cold water submerged him.

Sound muffled around Vali, hair floating by his face as he flailed his arms and legs, propelling himself forward. An arrow shot into the water a short distance away, sinking down into the black depths. They don’t even know who I am, why are they attacking me? He struggled to keep swimming, weighed down by the heavy coat. He gingerly unbuttoned it and let it drop, making sure his coin pouch was still attached to his belt underneath his shirt; it was the one necessity he didn’t want to part with. After a few minutes he could no longer move his legs, and he pushed himself up. As his head broke the surface, he realized he never needed to stop for a breath; an advantage of his condition. 

The army camp was out of sight, and the shore to the other side was mere meters away. Vali spat out water, swimming toward shore weakly. I’m safe, I’m safe for now, I’m okay and so very cold. Can a vampire die of cold? I’m already dead.

Vali dragged himself onto the river bank with a groan, flopping onto the sand and dirt. He curled up in a dry spot under a tree, shivering from the cold and nerves spiking through him. The air was still and silent apart from the lapping of the river, owls hooting through the trees, and the distant ringing in his head, his craving for blood crying out.

The noises grew quieter as Vali’s eyes closed, his fists pressed to his sides loosening as he slept.

*  
Snow fell from the sky, awakening Vali with its soft chill.

He uttered a low moan, stretching, putting an arm over his eyes to shield them from the rising sun. Dawn, he guessed, sitting up and squinting. Vali allowed himself a few minutes to fully wake up, watching the snow fall and melt into the river.

Even on the river, just a bit away from an army, it was peaceful.

_I just want to stay here… Away from life. Away from danger. Away from where I can hurt anyone. I don’t want this to be my life anymore. Nothing is making me go on. I do not even know if Nikodemos is still in the same area. I have no one else. Not a home, or family, or friends_ —

Vali closed his eyes and pressed his fists to them, biting back a cry.

What was he to do, if he lacked motivation to keep going?

Spite.

The man who had taken Vali’s family away, his life, his happiness, his humanity—the monster, the creature, the strigoi who’d infected him and turned his life upside down. That man was still out there, surely, and ruining God knew who else.

Vali remembered the black curls of hair, the masked face—was he wearing a mask?—and the fire poker sticking out of the monster’s back—he never saw the body, how had he survived the blow?—and the awful shrieks of the household being slaughtered, one by one. He remembered the pain along his throat, dragging his brother’s limp body, running out the place he’d once called home to survive one tragedy to step into another, the tragedy that had become his vampirism. Vali hated him, he hated him, he wanted him to pay for bringing about doom to his life.

Burning fury replaced the disgust and guilt in his chest, and he held it close, kindling the fire. Yes, that was enough for him. Anger gave him a purpose, and a selfish excuse to allow himself to continue living.

Revenge would be the driving force of his.

Standing up and smoothing down his damp clothes, he frowned at his chest. It wasn’t large, exactly, but large enough to make it obvious he had them, making his baggy shirt hang a certain way. He untied his coin pouch and emptied it, stuffing the money in his pant pockets. There were too little coins for the large bag anyway. It took a few tries with a sharp rock from the riverbank to slice the leather bag, stretching it out so he could hold it along its length. He tugged off his shirt and pressed the leather material around his chest, tying it at the back. It somewhat successfully held his breasts down, minimizing their appearance underneath the shirt as Vali put it back on. The leather wasn’t comfortable, but it had to do until he could get more clothing layers, especially since he no longer had the thick coat. He didn’t care much what he had to do to keep himself safe, considering he was no longer an innocent anywhere. Innocence did not exist in monsters.

Vali set off into the woods, keeping the sharp rock in his hand.

With hate and vengeance in his heart, he was willing to do anything to find the creature and put an end to him.


	4. Taking Risks

Vali lay in the back of a covered wagon, curled up under a thick fur blanket, listening to the idle chatter of the couple driving the wagon. He’d used most of his money left to bribe them, pleading for them to smuggle him over the border of Bulgaria into the Ottoman Empire. Luckily for him, they knew enough Wallachian to understand him. At least, Vali hoped they understood him. If not, he was going to have a great deal of trouble soon.

So here he was, making sure his cap was low over his eyes and his hair over his face, trying to seem asleep, yet not trusting the couple enough to allow himself _to_ sleep. He’d been forcing himself to accept their food for the past four days, then sneaking off to feed on an animal under the guise of relieving himself.

The ringing in his head grew.

Vali started awake some time later, cursing himself for falling asleep. The wind howled outside the wagon. Voices unfamiliar to him spoke softly, and he assumed the couple had met travelers. _I hope they’re travelers._

He slowly sat up, trying to listen in on the Bulgarian conversation. Snow crunched as someone walked to the wagon. Vali fumbled for the sharp rock he now carried, clinging to it for protection. A large hand yanked aside the fabric, revealing a large man to match it. He was not the husband of the Bulgarian woman, and he barked a question at Vali.

“I… do not understand,” said Vali, a little meekly.

“You are not their child, and you are not of this country. What are you?” The man demanded in broken Wallachian.

“I am from Wallachia. I… I just want to visit friends in Candia. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Wallachia!” The man reached in and grabbed Vali, dragging him out of the wagon. Vali yelped and stumbled, falling into the snow. _I don’t understand, what is so bad about Wallachia? ... Oh. Oh, dear_. He’d forgotten the Ottomans were occupying Bulgaria. Currently, Wallachia’s enemy. “You are a spy, a rat!”

“No! No, please, I just want to leave.”

The couple stood off to the side, ashamed; of themselves and of being caught. The wife spoke rapidly to the large man.

The man paused and looked at Vali, taking in his appearance. “You’re too tiny for a soldier. Frail.”

“Yes. Yes, I’m not a soldier.” Vali insisted. “Please let me go. I will walk there, I will go on foot.”

He shoved Vali to the snow. “Leave, before I change my mind. My cousins will not be involved with this.”

_Well, that explains that_. Vali scrambled up and ran, tripping over his own feet getting stuck in the thick snow. He stood and ran again, hugging himself to keep warm.

The wagon had stopped by a cottage on the outside of a village, and Vali, upon seeing it, understood why the couple and their cousin were on edge.

Several homes were poorly repaired, and further from the village was a dismantled pyre, the ground too cold to dig graves in. Tents made from scraps of curtains and fabric were set up, treating the wounded. Signs of the war were too fresh, here. Yet, at the same time, the village was too intact to have been affected by an army. A patrol?

Vali slowed once he was a decent distance away, rubbing his arms, examining the scene. He didn’t smell much blood; not even dried blood. Mostly death.

_An army patrol wouldn’t do this. Wallachians wouldn’t do this… would they? I don’t know anything, anymore_. He turned his back to the village and went on his way.

*

Vali traveled by moonlight to avoid humans, keeping his cap over his eyes to hide the red glare. Getting through Bulgaria took longer than it normally would, being on foot, and only at night, at that. He didn’t want to take the risk of humans seeing him, not after the incident with the Bulgarian couple.

Cool air chilled him to the bone, and he cursed as rain started to fall. He’d always loved autumn; it meant sitting in front of the fireplace at home, listening to mother tell stories, stealing mead from under Sorin’s nose. Autumn meant spending time with his broken family and enduring “Vida,” but it was time together nonetheless. Now? Autumn meant freezing and hiding in holes during the day like a rodent.

Now, it meant howling wind to smother the sounds of his hunting.

Now it meant blood spattering the already red leaves on the ground.

Vali stopped walking as he heard voices, biting back a frustrated curse. Army patrols and search points blocked each major entrance of each country due to the war—no one wanted any unwelcome visitors, especially not one like Vali.

He crouched in the bushes, watching the border patrol get further from him. He’d already went along the borders to find an opening of any sort. Why in the _hell_ was it so hard? At this rate he would just need to make a run for it.

Which didn’t sound like the worst idea, really. Last time he did that he had to jump into a river and swim while being shot at, but nothing happened. He could definitely outrun some soldiers.

Vali propped his chin in his hand, then promptly stood and walked across the field when the soldiers had their back turned.

_So far so good, this isn’t terrible—_

“Hey!”

He bolted.

An arrow lodged itself into a nearby tree, nearly taking his ear off. These soldiers were better shots than the others.

Vali jumped over fallen logs as he ran into the woods, ducking under branches and weaving between trees. A yelp escaped him as he tripped over a rock, falling flat on his face. The soldiers’ shots became closer and closer as Vali forced himself up, feeling and smelling blood on his face. He nearly tripped again, running.

“There he is!”

A second arrow pierced the back of Vali’s thigh.

He screamed and fell against a tree, holding onto a branch to steady himself. Pain burned through his skin, but his fear of the soldiers pushed him onward. His fear of what they’d do to him. They could torture him, kill him; if they saw his chest, they’d do worse. His eyes? Unthinkable.

So he pushed himself off the tree and still ran, limping, blood soaking his trousers and trickling down his skin.

And he ran directly into a man.

Vali fell once more on his ass and looked up, blood and mud caked on his face.

“Stay down,” the man said. He stepped past Vali and toward the soldiers, disappearing from view. Moments later, he heard screams and the squelching of flesh.

The man returned a minute later, his mouth stained red, dragging a body behind him. He dropped it at Vali’s feet. “Eat,” he ordered. “Might as well, with the ruckus you’ve made.” His Bulgarian was thick, with the undercurrent of an accent.

After Vali ate, the man sat beside him.

“I… only know a little Bulgarian.” Vali said. “Wallachian? Italian?”

The man switched to Italian, seeming relieved; that was his accent. “Why are you this far if you’re Wallachian? Fleeing war?”

“Going after who turned me into this. I need to get to a friend, first. He lives in Candia. Crete. I… I need peace.”

The man made a deep hum. “I see. Peace will do you good; it will clear your head for the journey. Candia is odd enough to not turn an eye on you. You need to get through the occupied territory. Well, congratulations. I killed a patrol for you. Welcome to the Ottoman Empire, child.”

*

“How much do you know of Radu?” The man, Domizio, asked.

“Not much.” Vali admitted. “He is the voivode’s brother.”

“Yes. And he is trying to rule Wallachia in place of Vladimir.”

“But why?”

Domizio laughed. “Officially? He wants to. For us? _Dracul_ is reckless.” He said the name as if it were poison on his tongue. “He is creating many strigoi.”

Vali paused in playing with his hat. “He’s creating them? How?”

“How do you think? He is strigoi. He infects humans.”

“He—is a strigoi?”

“Of course. Have you ever seen the man? Few have. That is how rumors—accurate rumors—of him being strigoi started. It is the same with his brother.”

Vali simply stared.

“Radu is attempting to control the strigoi population and protect them, but Vladimir and his followers are infecting as many as possible to create an army. Not everyone survives the encounters, but those who do rarely escape the army. I am one of those few.” He stretched and leaned back, resting his arms on a log. “Unfortunately, the war is pushing them to feed inside cities. It is drawing attention to us.”

“I… don’t know how to process this.” Vali said.

“No need. Just accept it for now. Until you do, I will help you with your journey to Crete.”

The young vampire brightened. “You will?”

“Yes. We leave tomorrow night. Until then, we prepare. We gather blood.”

“Gather blood?”

Domizio procured two canteens, offering one to Vali. “Smell it.”

Vali did so. “Blood?”

“Yes. Easier to carry blood with you than to constantly hunt. Attracts less attention. By the time the body is found, the strange passerby is gone.” He smiled. “So we fill these with blood, and it will last us both three days. We will go on a ship, and live off these, then off rats—do not make that face.”

He continued making that face until Domizio threw the other canteen at him. “You get the blood, I get money and more clothing for you.” Domizio said. “Make sure no one follows you here.”

“What kind of blood?” Vali asked.

“Any sort. Human, animal; it does not matter.” With that he left.

Vali peered down at the canteens, his stomach tightening _. I’m tired of murder_. But he didn’t see any other choice. If he wanted to get to Nikodemos, he had to do this.

He had to get to Crete, for even a shred of normalcy.

*

Vali followed Domizio onto the ship, looking at their surroundings. It was small and rickety, but it’ll do the week they’ll be there. They were led down into the ship where the rest of the passengers were staying: the storage. It would be cramped. Vali already expressed his concerns to Domizio, but the older man waved his concerns away.

Days later, they ran out of their stored blood, and resorted to rats. At least the crew cook had less pests to worry about.

One quiet night, another passenger spotted Vali eating.

He threw the rat overboard with a cough, screwing his face up. He turned to go back to bed, and stopped. A man stared at him with unconcealed disgust and horror, pointing and saying several unkind things he couldn’t understand. Before he could shout, Domizio appeared behind the man and hit him over the head, knocking him out.

Vali put a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from crying out in surprise.

Domizio growled. “Imbecile. I told you to be careful.”

“I was—”

“Not careful enough. Now drink yourself silly on him, and it’ll fill you for two days. You’ll have a stomachache, and a reason not to come up, but you won’t be hungry.” When Vali hesitated, he hissed. “Do it!”

Domizio threw the man overboard, later.

Vali didn’t leave the storage for the next two days, sick like Domizio said.

After that, he mostly kept to himself, writing on some paper with charcoal that Domizio gave him. Letters to Sorin, if he were still alive. To his parents, if they still were.

But they weren’t.

Days later, Vali and Domizio left the ship with their meager belongings.

“Vali, welcome to Candia.”


	5. Crete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for some homophobia and mentioned transphobia!

Domizio had decided to find his own lodging in Crete while Vali searched for Nikodemos. The citizens seemed more at ease than in Wallachia and Bulgaria; they felt safe with soldiers on the border, but not smothered by constant patrols. In this war, it was the single shred of peace they accepted.

Vali easily understood the Italian and, whispered between close ones, Greek, that surrounded him. He and Sorin had studied both languages when they were younger in preparation of a trip to the South, and that was when they met Nikodemos and his mother. They lived close to where his family’s lodgings were and became fast friends. Vali explained his identity to Nikodemos, who readily accepted it without as much as a laugh. Sorin and Niko? For a fleeting moment they were something more, before they left back home. Vali often teased Sorin for it, trying to steal his letters to Niko and read the emotional mush before Sorin was even finished writing. It often ended with a whack to Vali’s head. He now smiled at the memories, turning a corner and standing at a door. If he tried hard enough, he could still feel a bump on his head from when Sorin hit him too hard. They generally ended in apologies and a promise to sneak Vali extra sweets after dinner.

He raised a fist, then hesitated.

What if Nikodemos saw his eyes? Or his mother? What would they say? What _wouldn’t_ they say, then regale it to a soldier afterward? What if—

He knocked, praying he was right about Niko.

Moments passed without as much as a shout of acknowledgement, and Vali was going to knock again when the door opened, and a young blond stood in the doorway.

“May I help you?” Niko asked in Italian.

Vali faltered. “Hello, Nikodemos.”

Nikodemos merely cocked his head, his tan face puzzled. “Do we know each other?”

“It’s Vali—”

“Vali!” He cried out, dragging him into a hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you! It has been years. Come, come.” He pulled Vali inside, shutting the door firmly. He switched to Greek once the outside noise was blocked out. “I have not received a letter from either you or Sorin in some time.”

Vali smiled weakly. “It is good to see you too, Niko. How have you been?”

Niko ushered him to the kitchen and into a chair. “I’ve been well. Do you want anything to eat? Drink?”

“Ah— water will do. And your mother? How is she?”

Nikodemos poured him a mug of water from a pitcher, setting in on the table. “She’s well, too. I’ve, ah, found someone.”

“Mm, finally.” Vali took the water gratefully; the only thing besides blood he found he could drink. “Who is the lucky man?”

The Cretan twirled a strand of curls around his finger, embarrassed. “He actually is a stable boy, not too far from here.”

“Humble.”

“Yes, humble. But I want to hear more about you! You haven’t said anything about visiting. Where is Sorin?” He looked at the door, as if hoping Sorin would come charging in.

Vali hesitated.

Niko frowned, looking at him. “I… hope it is not any bad news?”

“Actually… we had an intruder the other week,” he started. “He killed my parents. The servants. Sorin.”

Nikodemos stared, sitting opposite Vali. “They… he… they’re dead? How did you escape?”

“I wasn’t home. I do not entirely feel lucky.” He whispered.

“Vali… Vali. I am so, so sorry.” He started crying, an action Vali had done more than his share of already. “Sorin—”

Vali quietly reached over to take his hand, waiting for his friend to calm. “I need a place to stay for some time. I did not know where else to go.”

Niko wiped his face, sniffling. “You will always be welcome here, Vali. Mother will be home soon. She’ll be happy to see you.”

“Thank you.”

He offered Vali a watery smile. “Short hair suits you.”

He laughed. “Thank you.”

Nikodemos examined him quietly, still wiping his face. They made eye contact, but nothing was asked nor said on the topic of his eyes.

*

Nikodemos’s mother was, in fact, overjoyed to see him. She still thoroughly believed Vali was Vida, and that “Vali” was simply a game. For once, it didn’t terribly bother him. He was just relieved at this temporary safety. He kept his hair over his eyes to avoid any questioning from her.

After each meal he went outside to the garden, shaking, and drank blood from a leather wine sack when alone. It was miserable, but it had to do.

On the third day he went to find Domizio. The older vampire was staying above a tavern filled with rowdy drunks. He claimed it made him less inconspicuous, with all the noise and fighting down below.

Domizio shut his room door after inviting Vali inside. “Found your friend?”

“Yes, sir. I’m staying with him.”

“Please tell me you are being careful.” He muttered.

“Yessir.”

“Don’t “yessir” me.” Domizio grouched, sitting on the bed. “You need to practice care and restraint somehow, and maybe this is the way. Or else you eat your friend.”

Vali sputtered. “I would never—”

“How can you be sure? If you are hungry, then you are hungry. The noise in your brain will grow until you silence a heartbeat, friends be damned.”

Vali had nothing to say to that.

“Here.” Domizio offered him his own leather canteen. “It’s easier for me to get blood than it is for you.”

He muttered a thanks as they swapped, clinging to it. “I still don’t know what to do after this.”

Domizio shrugged. “Live? Survive?”

“I want to do more than that.”

“You can’t. Not anymore. Now, your life is running and hiding like a rat. Because that is all we are to the world. Plague rats. They fear becoming us, so they kill us, and so we run. You no longer have a choice in the matter.”

Vali started crying.

“Oh hush, now. How old are you?”

“S- Seventeen.” He sobbed out.

An awkward pause. “Ah. Young, then. Did you have a goal in life, child?”

“I don’t know… marriage. Perhaps owning my own farm, my own land. Helping. Now I only destroy.”

Domizio sighed, pulling Vali to sit by him. “Vali. None of that is possible anymore, and you need to accept it. The sooner you do, the better. Maybe… maybe, your goal can be finding other fledglings—new vampires—and help them manage themselves.”

When Vali didn’t reply, he sighed again. “I know being a strigoi is a lot to get used to. It is a tremendous amount. But you need to face it now, else you will be left behind in society or worse, killed. Okay, child? Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now go back to your friend. I’m tired and want to get drunk.”

Vali looked at him, puzzled. “Vampires can drink?”

He laughed. “Mix it with enough blood, and yes. It’ll still destroy my stomach, but what else will an old alcoholic do? Now get out.”

Vali got out.

When he got back to Nikodemos’s home he stopped; arguing could be heard from inside. Nikodemos and his mother.

“Mother, please! Why can’t you accept me? There is nothing wrong with this, there is nothing wrong with me or—”

“Nikodemos!” She hissed. “I have dealt with your foolishness for too long. I turned a blind eye to Sorin, hoping it was a silly game. But this? This is too far!”

“Mother—” He pleaded.

“No!”

“The gods—"

“The gods be damned. No! I have had enough! You will not embarrass me! Not anymore, Nikodemos!”

Vali pushed the door open, about to head up the stairs when he heard a resounding _crack_. He ran upstairs.

Nikodemos’s mother stood at the window with her eyes wide and her hand over her mouth. “No. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean to… Niko. Niko!”

Vali pushed her out of the way, peering over the balcony. Nikodemos was in the flowerbed, his head facedown at an awkward angle and his neck on the concrete surrounding the dirt and flowers. His body was stiff and unmoving.

Vali screamed.

*

Muffled voices floated around him, blurring together.

“He should be just fine, Domizio. Though you didn’t have to hit him that hard.” Unfamiliar.

“One more time, Vali. One more goddamn act like this from you and I am leaving your silly ass alone.” Domizio.

“Shush. He’s awake.”

“Brat or fledgling?”

“… Yes.”

Domizio growled. He smacked Vali up the face, who fully woke with a cry.

Vali sat with a hiss, rubbing his face. The small group was in what seemed to be a storage room, crates and sacks and chairs lining the walls. Most were pushed aside to make room for them. “What happened?”

“What happened?” Domizio retorted, mocking Vali’s tone. “Your friend. You threw his mother out the window and broke her neck, and you bit your friend. What were you thinking? What the fuck happened to lying low?”

The stranger, sitting on top a barrel by Domizio, raised his hand and grabbed the man’s shirt. “Stop, hush. Anger will not solve anything. You said he is a child, no? He acted from emotion.” He looked at Vali with honey-brown eyes. “You wanted to protect your friend, and you thought killing his mother was the best choice? Why?”

Vali faltered. “I… I don’t know. I saw Niko not moving. There was so much blood—she hurt him, so she deserved the same. I went down, Niko was still breathing, I thought if I heal quickly, he could heal too—”

Domizio groaned loudly. “This is why I never had children,” he muttered. “Vali, you were right in assuming he would heal.” He stood and took a candle, nearing it to where a blond, blood matted figure slept under a table. Nikodemos.

Vali quickly stood. “Niko—”

Both the stranger and Domizio pushed him back.

“He needs to rest.” The other man said. “He lost a lot of blood. He very easily could have died if it were not for you. But, keep in mind you also condemned him to the same life as us.”

The words drove an icicle into Vali’s heart. He cringed and sat back on the floor. “I… didn’t mean to. I only wanted to help.”

“I know. Ah, well, the past is the past. Ah, introductions! You need only refer to me as Witold, your friendly traveling vampire.” Witold offered a lazy bow, still sitting atop the barrel. “I smelled blood and wanted to take advantage, and instead I found your… crime scene. All of you were causing quite the theatrics.”

Domizio glared at Witold; his mood evidently was more sour with their new “friendly traveling vampire.” “Yes, well. We are going to Radu’s camp. They will definitely be able to spare supplies for _two_ fledglings. And, hopefully, drive some sense into this one’s head about how to be a vampire.”

Vali pursed his lips, turning away.

Witold sighed and stood. “Well. I shall tag along on your journey, and I’ll gather supplies. Domizio, join me!” He pulled up the hood on his cloak and left. Domizio turned red in the face with frustration. He pointed a finger at Vali in a silent order to stay, then followed Witold.

Once the two left, Vali stood and went over to Niko’s sleeping figure. Gently, he put a hand on his shoulder and shook him. “Niko?”

Nikodemos startled awake, sitting up. His face was mostly cleaned up; however, the evidence of the past night’s event was obvious. A heavy, diagonal line over his face, from left temple to the bottom of the nose, marred his tan and freckled complexion. Little cuts and tears were healed over from falling face first in the flowers, though the scar from hitting brick would never fade. Knowing this, Vali stared. And Nikodemos stared back with wide red eyes.

“Why?” he whispered. “Why did you—why did you do this to me? My mother?”

Vali drew back quickly. “I couldn’t watch you die. Your mother tried to kill you, and for what? Being in love?”

“She was my mother!” he cried. “And you murdered her. You turned me into a monster. You expect me to be grateful? Vali, you know I would accept you for anything. Even vampirism. This. But treating me to the same fate?”

“I was supposed to let you die?” Vali demanded. “Just like that? You—you could see your lover again.”

“No. Not the way I am. Not like this.” Niko dragged the blanket back over his head.

Vali’s shoulders slumped. He slinked away to the other corner of the room and sat, staring at a candle, waiting for Domizio and Witold to return while wondering if his friend would ever forgive him.

*

Nikodemos was weak and weary from his assault, and they all agreed that he would need to heal before traveling out of Crete. Domizio ordered Vali to stay inside the building with Niko while he and Witold gathered supplies and figured out a way out of the city; a feat made harder due to the investigation of the “mysterious” murder of Nikodemos’ mother. The new strigoi still hasn’t forgiven Vali after several days, but he no longer acted cold toward him.

Vali was packing down blankets in a bag when Niko approached, bracing himself on a wall; he had spells of dizziness from time to time due to his head injury. “Vali?”

He looked up. “Niko,” he simply acknowledged.

Niko sat in a nearby chair. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What really happened, when Sorin and your parents… died?”

Vali stilled. He set the bag down and pushed it away. “A strigoi attacked us. He murdered the servants, then my mother and father, and he came for Sorin and I last. Sorin died to give me enough time to run, but I still turned out like this. A monster like that vampire.”

Niko looked at Vali, his newly red eyes pitiful. He reached over to lightly squeeze his friend’s arm. “I am so sorry. That’s… significantly worse than finding them gone. But I’m sure even with your state, Sorin is happy you survived it. His sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”

Vali smiled thinly, not pulling away. “I hope it wasn’t. Or maybe I should have died. I wouldn’t have turned you into this.”

“Vali. I… I do not want to be this, but I’m sure I will get used to it in time. As you are. As Domizio and Witold did.” He wrapped his arms around him, embracing him tight.

Vali squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back tears as he barked out a laugh. “I’m not sure Witold needed time to get used to it. He seems a little—” He pulled away to trace a circle in the air around his temple.

The two boys laughed, fighting to muffle the sound as Domizio and Witold entered the warehouse.

“What are you two going on about? I said to be quiet.” Domizio muttered, hauling in a sack of—wineskins? To store blood in, presumably.

“Hush, let them have their fun. They are young and vibrant children.” Witold dropped down a basket of meats, at which Niko brightened. “Even though they’ll be children forever, their minds will change to more serious and grouchy like a certain Italian.”

Domizio hissed in response.

Niko straightened. “Wait. Do vampires not age?”

“No, of course not! We are dead, and the dead do not age.” Witold said brightly, outstretching his arms. “I will stay at my peak.” Domizio snorted at that.

“But… what? No, no—” The fledgling scrambled up, nearly losing his balance. “What about living in one place? People will notice you don’t age.”

“Why do you think the two of us constantly travel? To avoid that.” Domizio said. “You can’t stay in one place anymore. A year, two, three, perhaps. But they will notice sooner or later, if they don’t see your eyes first.”

Vali looked away to avoid the crushed expression on his friend’s face.

Witold cleared his throat, sensing the rising tension in the room. “Ah, well. How do you feel, Nikodemos? Better? Yes? Good, good. Because tonight we leave for Radu’s camp. We’ve nabbed a cart and horses. No foot travel! Wheels, how wonderful,” he mused, turning and going through their things.

Domizio sighed, rubbing his face. “Yes, well. Get some sleep, you two. We have a long few weeks ahead of us.”

With that, the two boys lay down in silence, save for the rustling of bags and Witold’s occasional, mad humming.


	6. Answers

They left the moment the moon rose high in the sky, packing the wagon with provisions and clothing taken from Nikodemos’s house. Domizio argued against it, but Niko didn’t want any of it to go to waste. He and Vali got in the back of the wagon while Witold and Domizio went up front, armed with a knife and a map. Apparently, strigoi had not only enhanced senses, but physical ability as well. Vali had already suspected it when running from soldiers; he didn’t need to breathe, nor had he had to stop as soon for his muscles to stop burning. When he asked what the knife was for, if vampires had the ability to fight so well, Domizio only shrugged and said it was more inconspicuous. Vali felt there was more to it, but he didn’t pry.

It took weeks for them to reach Radu’s camp, especially by traveling nightfall. First they needed to get off the island. And it took some time to coax the horses onto the ship. Nikodemos took to the ship just fine, along with the other two, while Vali stayed mostly below deck, especially when strong waves and rain rocked the ship.

“End me,” Vali had moaned against the wall, face tinged green and pale, on a particularly windy day. Nikodemos just laughed.

When the aquatic torture ended, they got back on the wagon and traveled less worn paths. And whenever Witold would disappear with the wineskins and the knife, they didn’t question him when the skins were full and blood streaked his lips and fingers.

Nikodemos and Vali ate the solid food that was packed to consume as little blood as possible. Domizio would shake his head but said nothing on the topic. Nor did he say anything when Niko would sit off to the side, looking sick as he pressed a fist to his mouth. And Vali would simply sit beside him, guilt gnawing at his stomach.

But no matter how much it ate away at him, he felt the press of Niko against him, the shape of a friend once lost, and decided it was worth it in the end.

After what felt like years of sleeping and eating in a wagon, feeling the temperature change from sunny Candia to chilly and snowy ( _Where are we_ , Vali wondered? He’d lost track after sleeping for the majority of the ride. He just knew they weren’t far from Wallachia.), they stopped near a large camp that was bustling with people.

Vali faltered. “Domizio—are they all human? We—”

“Don’t worry,” Domizio assured. “Just wait here.” He walked up to the guards, arms outstretched.

One guard cried out his name, eyes glinting red underneath his helmet. The two men embraced and spoke for a few moments before Domizio gestured at the wagon and came back. “Come, come. Leave the wagon and horses for now.”

The group dismounted the wagon and went over to Domizio and the guards. “These are old colleagues of mine,” he explained. “We’ve known each other for a long time now.” He turned to them. “We need to speak to Radu.”

The guard frowned. “What for?”

“I have a child whom I believe was turned by his brother,” Domizio murmured. “He needs… closure.”

He paused, looking to Vali and Nikodemos, then nodded. “Follow me, then. Griggori, you stay.” He ignored his fellow soldier’s muttering as he left his station, leading them through the camp. The man in the camp were setting up tents and drinking, looking tired. Vali noticed they had one thing in common: their eyes were red.

“I… don’t understand,” he started.

“This is Radu’s vampiric army.” Domizio explained. “And whenever they come in contact with Dracula’s vampiric patrols, they do their damned best to take and convert them to him. All the vampires are in a camp separate from the humans.”

“Well, isn’t that convenient.” Witold said brightly. “Let’s hope he likes strays.”

Domizio rolled his eyes.

Vali didn’t feel very much relieved at the information, but he nodded and kept walking.

In hard, slurred Wallachian: “Did you shrink yourself after our last conversation?” As a hand snaked around Vali’s lower waist. Immediately he turned and slapped the offender across the face. _Does someone know? Did they see through me? I know I bound today—_

A burley man with black hair stumbled back, clutching his cheek. He blinked a few times before actually looking at Vali. “Ah…”

Domizio was on him, hands fisting his uniform. “You bloody pervert—”

Witold pried him off as the man stammered out an apology. “I-I’m sorry, truly; I thought he was someone else.” He looked to Vali sheepishly, who was watching with wide eyes. Domizio and Witold seemed to be waiting for his response, while Niko moved in front of him.

“It’s alright,” Vali said faintly. “No harm done.”

The guard who had been leading them turned snd scowled. “Dragos, for fuck’s sake. You into children now? Hm?”

Dragos was a violent shade of red. “No—”

“Good. Take these kids to Radu then.”

“I’m drunk and busy.”

“Terribly tragic.” He sounded smug. He clapped Dragos on the shoulder and left. “Don’t get lost.”

The soldier stared and shook his head, cursing. “Follow me,” he muttered.

Eventually they reached the largest tent in the camp, a horse-tail banner in front of the entrance. Dragos disappeared into the tent, returning after a few moments. He quietly waved them in and they entered.

A man that could only be described as beautiful was leaning over a table with a map, his short black waves over his face as he spoke to another man. Vali’s stomach dropped. _Is it him? How can he still be so close—_ And then the man raised his face and offered a kind smile, and Vali’s stomach settled.

“Dragos. Who are these guests? Ah, I see Domizio. I trust that you are still retired?” The man asked.

Domizio briefly bowed his head. “You are correct. This is Vali, and this is Nikodemos: new _strigoi_. And Witold, a… friend.” He grudgingly said. Witold looked pleased.

Radu nodded. “A pleasure to meet you all, then. As I am sure you can guess, I am Radu Bey, and I am the _pasha_ , general of this army. And yes, I am a _strigoi_ as well as everyone in this half of the camp. The humans are a bit away from here to ensure we don’t interact _negatively_.”

Radu. Brother to Voivoide Vladimir Dracul Tepes. Enemy of Vladimir. A man startlingly like his older brother in appearance, but so beautiful that he easily won the hearts of men and women. And if he was similar to Dracula, then Dracula was the spitting image of the vampire that slaughtered Vali’s family and condemned him to immortal life.

Sounds grew muffled as the world spun around him, trying to process the information. The realization. The strong possibility that his _king_ , the protector of his country and culture, had destroyed everything in a single night. Like he was nothing. Like his own citizens meant nothing to him.

“Vali!”

Vali started, blinking. Everyone was looking at him with varying degrees of concern, Niko holding onto him. He realized he had all but fallen, his knees weak.

Radu poured water into a tin cup, coming over and offering it to Vali. Vali softly said thanks, bowing his head and taking the cup, drinking.

“What’s wrong?” Domizio asked.

Vali closed his eyes. “The Danube.”

“Many soldiers from both us, and my brother, are stationed there.” Radu said slowly. “What of it?”

“I… lived not too far from the river,” Vali said. “And one night a vampire took the lives of my family, and turned me. He looked not unlike you and your brother. And when I ran, I saw a large army camp.”

Radu suddenly looked tired. “I knew Vlad has a tendency to do his own hunts. To gather blood. There is a very, very good chance it was he who did this to you, child. And yesterday, a patrol of ours won against his scouts. Took in his strigoi. No—I see your face, and I will not tell you where he now camps.”

Vali shook, a white-hot iron going through his stomach, his heart, his brain; it burned away any pity he held for himself and left only rage. “Kings are meant to protect their people.”

“And I agree,” the brother of the monster said, “but now there is nothing to be done about it. He will get all that he deserves in due time. Now, all _you_ can do is live.”

Vali clung to the cool tin cup, the metal shape pressing into his hands, grounding him, he remembered when he still didn’t understand, didn’t know why he felt uncomfortable in dresses and skirts. All he knew was that they made him feel ill, that all of it felt wrong: the low cut of the dress meant to emphasize his cleavage in vain, the airiness of the skirt, being called “Vida” and “young lady.” He would sit on his bed and cry, his shoulders shaking and his chest heaving, when Sorin knocked on the door and came in. He’d always bring hot tea or broth and sit by Vali, listening and trying to understand.

Sorin never quite understood. He couldn’t. He was a man in every way possible, even with his attraction to people of same and opposite genders. But he still tried. He still listened to Vali admit his feelings, helped him think of a name that was wholly his, the heat of the tea or broth Sorin brought grounding him.

The same way the cold cup of water was bringing him back to reality now. Just… without his brother there. Because he’d been taken by his own king that he would have served, had he been alive.

Vali shut his eyes. “I’m alright now. Thank you.”

Radu nodded, then paused. “There is some… unpleasant news to this, too. I’m nearly positive that Vlad had sent a mercenary after you. Either to silence you on his existence, if you were still human, or collect you as his strigoi. He hunts for new soldiers, not just for blood. And if he has not done this yet, he will.”

“You’re saying I’ve had an assassin following me?” Vali asked weakly. Domizio raised his head, red eyes wide. Vali hadn’t realized that the entire time he was with Domizio and the rest, he’d been putting them in danger. “Ever since then?”

“It is a strong possibility.” Radu said. “Regardless, they will not hurt you here, unless they desire to fight an entire army for one vampire.”

He nodded, numb.

“Do any of you have questions? Information?”

“Mostly, we came here on Vali’s behalf.” Domizio shrugged.

“I see. And the other purpose?”

“Ah, old friends here. Perfect opportunity to see if they’re still kicking.”

Radu chuckled. “Yes, I suppose so. Well, feel free to stay the day, or night. To when you need to travel again. And for travel you need rest. Dragos, find an empty tent for them. One for each pair.”

Dragos seemed ready to topple over, his cheeks ruddy from alcohol. “Yes, sir.” He bowed and left. The group followed suit, Domizio casually putting himself between the soldier and the new vampires.

Vali looked around, startling at every loud noise—he’s coming for me he is—and turned at each pale blond head—Sorin Sorin I’m so sorry—until Nikodemos held onto his arm, rubbing it soothingly, and he relaxed enough to make it to the tents.

Dragos wearily gestured to the tents. “Two tents. All up and ready, since the men did not return. From the patrol attack.”

Witold cleared his throat. “Ah. Well. It would be a shame to waste the space, hm? I’ll go get some of our things from the wagon.” He disappeared as Domizio sighed and claimed a tent, going inside. Vali and Niko looked at each other before doing the same. The second tent was fairly small; made bedrolls on the ground lay waiting for occupants, in the same way two bags sat abandoned in the corner, never to be retrieved by their owners.

“It’s… not bad. Cozy.” Niko commented. He did not sound very cozy. “Do you— which bed do you want?”

Vali quietly shrugged and sat on one. He reached for a bag, opening it.

“What are you doing?” Niko demanded. “That does not belong to us.”

“You’re right. It’s a dead man’s, and he no longer needs it.” Vali dug through the contents. Inside were two changes of clothing: an army uniform, and then a thick sweater and trousers. Undergarments. A letter that Vali didn’t open. It smelled like lavender.

_A sweater this thick could help…_

“Could you turn away?” He asked Nikodemos. “I need to change.” Niko’s tanned cheeks turned pink as he turned. Vali got up and stripped, taking the tied leather straps off his chest. He wheezed softly as the tight, painful pressure eased. He massaged his torso before pulling on the thick sweater. It was made of wool, softened and dyed an olive green not unlike Vali’s old eye color. He finished dressing, satisfied with his baggy, oversized new clothing. “Okay.”

Niko turned and laughed. “You look comfortable in a dead man’s clothing.” Vali laughed along, not bothering to tell him it wasn’t the first time he’d worn a corpse’s clothes.

For a while they sat before Domizio peeked in, holding up a bag. “Here—your closest belongings. Witold nearly beat a soldier bloody for touching our things,” he said drily. “We’ll go and… mingle. Ah, ah, not you two. Nikodemos still needs more rest, and Vali, you stay out of trouble here.” Vali blinked, mollified. “Yes—don’t look at me like that.” Domizio hissed. “You do cause trouble everywhere we go. Stay. Talk. Sleep. We will wake you when it’s time to go.” And with that he disappeared.

“Did we just get scolded… to do nothing?” Niko asked.

“I think so.” Vali made a face and grabbed their bag; it contained clothes, a wineskin of blood, and money. Things that were absolutely not to be lost. He set it by the bedrolls, sitting back down. “Now what?”

Niko shrugged, settling on the other bedroll. “We… talk? Sleep?”

“I can’t sleep that long. Especially after everything that has happened.” Vali whispered.

His friend’s eyes softened. “Nightmares?” Vali nodded. “I understand. I… all that happened was that I almost died. Or… maybe I did die.” Niko’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not sure.”

“You died?”

“I remember feeling so much _pain_ , and then everything went dark. There were these sharp bursts of light, and it hurt looking at them, too. I felt nothing and I couldn’t think. No, I did think—I wondered whether I could see my father again.” His voice was quiet. “I started to hear things, and the voice of a woman. Then, it felt as if someone tied a rope around my waist and tugged me back. Next thing I know, I am in a storage shed with you and two strange men.” He looked at Vali. The wound on his face was already mostly healed, but Vali knew it would scar anyway.

Vali looked away. “I’m sorry. But I truly don’t regret my decision.”

Nikodemos let out a low, forced breath. “I understand. I don’t think I would, either, if I were you.” He smiled faintly at Vali. His smile was so soft and kind, and Vali understood then why Sorin would always check for letters from him, why he traveled whenever he could to Candia. Nikodemos radiated warmth and genuine safety; he had even made Domizio open up and care for him, had made him smile as if he were looking at a son.

So Vali lay on the bedroll, and spoke for a long time to Niko, about life and about nothing at all until the sun came up, and they finally went to sleep.

*

The next night, after the sun went down, Domizio came to wake Vali and Nikodemos. The two woke and packed up, going after Domizio to where Witold waited with the wagon.

“We’ve been thinking, and decided we should split up.” Domizio murmured. “I go with Nikodemos to my estate in Italy, while Witold takes Vali to—wherever the hell he is going.”

“Wait. What?” Vali paused. “Why?”

Domizio sighed, rubbing his face. “It will be safer. Easier.”

Vali paused again, his brain working to figure out the change in plans. “You don’t want to be near me. Not when there is a mercenary hunting me.” His tone was accusatory. “You don’t want to get hurt, even though there are four of us.”

“No, Vali—”

“You’re a coward,” he hissed.

Witold stepped between the two, holding a hand up to stop Niko moving. “No fighting, hm? It’s been decided. Nikodemos will go with our dear Domizio to safely learn how to be a little leech. And you, Vali, will have the pleasure of traveling with me, for I love danger.”

Vali laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Okay. Alright.”

“I… don’t want to,” Nikodemos started. “I don’t want to leave Vali behind, not if he might _die_.”

“No, no. Go.” Vali grabbed the rest of his things off the wagon. _It seems I lose everyone._

Witold sighed, already holding onto his bag. “They’ll take the wagon; not too far from here there is a farm. We can nick two horses from there, hm? Our first adventure.” When Vali didn’t reply, he turned to the others. “Until next time, then, friends.” He smiled wryly. He bowed with a flourish. “Nikodemos. Domizio.” He held Domizio’s gaze before turning and walking.

Vali let out a small _oof_ as Nikodemos threw his arms around him, staggering. “Please be safe. I lost Sorin; I cannot lose you too.”

Vali hugged him back. “You, too.” He murmured. “Please stay safe, for everyone’s sake. You are family to me.” The only family left.

Niko pulled away with a smile, his eyes misted with tears as he got on the wagon. Domizio quietly shook his head and did the same, avoiding Vali. “Stay out of trouble.”

“Why, now, of course we will! I’ve a child to care for.” Witold grinned. “It’s the child that brings trouble.” His smile wavered. “Goodbye. Keep each other well.” He watched as they drove away. Eventually, he turned and sighed, his good nature cracking. “Come, Vali. We have a long road ahead of us.”

Vali wordlessly followed him in the other direction, listening as he explained the bags held some food, water, and blood—the food being for Vali’s sake, of course.

“Where exactly are we going?” Vali asked.

Witold laughed. “Ah, haven’t you been listening when I talk about my travels? That’s what I do; I let the wind take me wherever it pleases, for months at a time.”

“You don’t have a home, like Domizio does?” Vali narrowed avoided tripping over a root that stuck out of the ground.

“Oh, I do. I just don’t spend much time in it. While I am gone, I employ a servant to live in it, to make sure it’s cared for.” He ducked under a pine branch, cursing as his head grazed the snow it was covered in.

Vali didn’t say anything more after a small “oh.” He walked, shivering faintly. Witold silently put his red scarf around him. He kept walking, dazed, lost in thought. He worried about Niko and Domizio; Domizio obviously was capable in battle and in survivalism, but Nikodemos was not. What would happen if the assassin came across them instead of Vali?

He cursed as he walked into Witold’s back.

The man looked over his shoulder. “Still asleep, hmm? We’ve reached the farm.”

And they had, in Vali’s musings. It was a small farm: one field of crops, one home, and one barn which surpassed the field. A livestock farm.

“Let’s steal some horses, now.” Witold advanced on the barn, rubbing his hands together.

Vali paled, grabbing his arm. “How are you sure no one’s in there?”

“Oh, I’m not. But that’s the fun!” He started moving again, and Vali prayed there were no pregnant or newborn animals, and no farmer sleeping by them, keeping watch. They crossed over the fencing and headed to the barn, muscling the doors open. There was no one inside.

Witold made his way to the horses’ stables, cooing at them “What beauties.” There were three: two were black stallions, and one was a brown, dappled mare. “Here, Vali—take the mare. She’s small enough for you.”

Vali bit back a retort, going to the mare’s stable. I’ve ridden ever since I was barely old enough to walk. And much to my mother’s disdain. The mare whinnied at Vali’s unfamiliar face, rearing her head. He hushed her, making kissing noises as he calmed her, reaching for the reins and saddle hanging by her stable. He slowly unlocked and opened the gate, fitting both on her, hearing Witold doing the same. He tied his bag to her saddle and led her outside, relieved there was no one else. Witold followed with the stallion, mounting it.

“See? Easy,” he said brightly. “Everyone just went to sleep, and no one will be waking anyone soon—”

A shout cut him off as a man red in the face ran from the house, yelling in a language Vali didn’t recognize.

“Oh, son of a—follow me!” Witold dug his heels into the horse’s flanks, dashing ahead. Vali quickly climbed onto his mare, spurring her after Witold.

Soon after, the shouting quieted to nothing. They rode on for a few minutes, wind blowing their hair into their faces. Witold finally slowed, bringing his horse around to face Vali, laughing. “Nothing is more fun than being chased by angry villagers, hm?”

“Yes. Yes, there’s plenty.” Vali clung to his reins tightly. _So much for staying safe._

“Oh, don’t be a bore! Nothing happened. Don’t worry, I won’t let you get hurt.” Witold promised. “And you know what? Let’s pay a visit to my home. Though it’s such a shame we can’t travel with the other two. Domizio wouldn’t appreciate that.”

“Of course not,” Vali mumbled. “Why would he? Even though if the mercenary has not shown up, he never will.”

Witold smiled wearily, reaching over and ruffling his hair. “Don’t worry. We’ll spend a bit of time in my home and find them, hm? After the threat has passed. Now let’s put more distance between us and the angry men.”

The two changed direction once more and set off on a new trail.


End file.
